Midnight Madness
by T.B. Stormshot
Summary: Heh heh, oh boy this is silly... it just sort of starts from one point and kinda goes from there, kind of a tribute for the great cliches of the olden days when the Animorph section was still young. I had the Drode do a hemorroids commercial, scary.


MIDNIGHT MADNESS  
  
BY: T.B. StormShot  
  
Note: This piece was actually written at 2: 37 in the morning, so therefore, the actual tital 'Midnight Madness' is actually skewed from its original concept, as it originally means "Madness at Midnight" instead of "Madness at 2:37 in the morning." But since "2:37 Madness" does not have such a nice ring to it as "Midnight Madness" we're just going to have to DEAL with it.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the Animorphs. YOU know this, and so do I. I mean, what is the POINT of a disclaimer anyway?! If you write fanfiction, OBVIOUSLY you aren't making any money, and OBVIOUSLY you don't own what you are actually writing about! So WHAT'S THE POINT?!  
  
  
T.B. sat thoughtfully at her computer one day, not the one in real life of course, but rather the one in her head. You know, the one where reality sort of twists and turns for better or worse and you can do basically anything. Or possibly a fanfic character might wrest control and leave you basically helpless in your own mind. Which brings up a point, if a character were to exist, persay, in another dimension-which is all quite possible if the truth were to be there is an infinite possibility of universes and dimensions (Yes, if this is true then the Animorph universe DOES exist, not even LIKELY, it simply DOES) would we be taking actual advantage of these supposedly made up characters by using them in fanfiction. And if so, is it possible they could sue us for saying we own them when in reality we do not. Because they're real people. In another dimension.  
  
Yes I know I'm babbling, it's 2:42 in the morning, OF COURSE I'M BABBLING!  
  
Well, you know where T.B. is, you've been there yourself, more then once probably. It's the place called 'Imagination'-Lala land would also be an exceptable term.  
  
So anyway, T.B. sat thoughtfully at her computer one day, she was trying to think up a really good Animorph story. Not just a GOOD Animorph story, but a REALLY good Animorphs story. And not even to just pay back and say "I'm not just better then you, I'm REALLY better then you" to that really nasty flamer who wouldn't take a biting comment or two and try to improve themselves as based on certain biting comments, which MIGHT have been considered flames by those who don't really understand the ART of flaming.  
  
Which would of course, consists of simple hateful messages without any real meaning or any true productive value, other than to make their victims burst into tears and run screaming for mommy, which of course only works on 12 years and below, as TEENAGERS, would be much too MATURE to take a flame-or it's flamer- seriously.  
  
And though certain BITING comments, may have the same effect in that of which sending a youth screaming for mommy, they could not be actually considered as a flame, seeing as they actually provide some productive value in pointing out exactly what might be wrong with a piece of writing.  
  
So anyway, T.B. was trying to write a really good Animorph story, not just to smite her enemies second-handedly, but rather to PROVE THAT SHE IS QUITE CAPABLE OF WRITING SOMETHING LONG, COMPLICATED, COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY AWE-INSPIRING, AND QUITE POSSIBLY MAKE HER KNOWN AS THE NEXT ASH *THE* WANDERER.  
  
But since of course this awe-inspiring piece of literature was destined to be an Animorph story, and not of course a Dragonball Z story, of which she was also working on in the form of creative genius, she would instead be hailed as the next... well whoever would be a really great Animorph fan fiction writer.  
  
You know, this is SO not turning out like my Cell piece-I got thirty+ reviews on that thing... time might make a difference... Say, maybe I should wait a half-hour till 3:30 AM before writing again, and possibly turn this into a short piece of angst on uh-I dunno-Tobias or the Drode or something...  
  
Eh-I'm a 'quantity' kind of person, WHO NEEDS QUALITY??! YAH!  
  
So anyway, T.B. was trying to think of some awe-inspiring piece of work when low and behold, the DRODE appeared!!!!!  
  
"Geez! What the heck is it with you and every Animorph piece that you've ever done, that *I* have to show up? Geez, do you have like a fetish for prune-like creatures or-" the Drode yelled angrily.  
  
"Hey that's pretty nasty of you! If you're THAT horny you can go make out with your girlfriend or something... now go away, I'm trying to think up something that's long, complicated, and awe-inspiring," T.B. said as she leaned back in her imaginary chair.  
  
"I don't HAVE a girlfriend and it's IMPOSSIBLE for me to get HORNY," the Drode yelled angrily.  
  
"SURE you have a girlfriend! I remember specifically in one of my fanfics... or another... her name was, um, Lisa... or something. Um, what do you mean you can't get HORNY? You're only a prune-skinned, dinosaur-like... person!" T.B. exclaimed.  
  
The Drode shrugged, "All Lord Crayak's minions are sterile."  
  
"WOAH! TOO much information! Could have done without that... that also throws half-a-dozen theories and ill-begotten fanfics out the window," T.B. muttered in annoyance.  
  
"What SORTS of theories just were bumbling blindly along in all that air of yours anyway?" the Drode asked suspiciously.  
  
"Nothing serious! I suspected you held some sort of strange, evil passion for Rachel, in a strange alien way, I don't know about love exactly- I dunno- is it possible for you to 'love'? I've been debating that for a while now..." T.B. asked thoughtfully.  
  
"No! No secret passions, and I am INCAPABLE of love, that's part of the package when signing up for the good ship Crayak" the Drode yelled angrily.  
  
T.B. leaned back thoughtfully. "Okay, so, you can't love NOW, but BEFORE Crayak, you USED to love."  
  
"Where the HELL do you pull out this stuff? No, I've NEVER loved, I DON'T love, and I never WILL love. So please, stop with the assumptions that I am some looked-over Casablanca, because that makes MYSELF sick, and that is very VERY bad," the Drode sighed in annoyance.  
  
"Soooo, you're a virgin?"  
  
The Drode stood there, unblinking, for a moment before shaking himself out of it. "Look, that's not the point-"  
  
"Hm... okay... well how about my theory that everybody only follows Crayak because he's really powerful and if you had the chance you'd overthrow Crayak in an instant and assume control yourself?" T.B. asked thoughtfully.  
  
The Drode coughed. "Well... certain rumors MIGHT circle that Crayak is an incompetent ruler who only keeps his throne by his sheer power alone... I of course, have no connections with these rumors..."  
  
"Right, okay then. Well, I'd like to endure some more witty banter, but I've got a lot of work to do, with the thinking up a master piece which'll put all great fanfiction authors before me to shame... or at least leave my greatest Fanfiction. Net enemies wallowing in my graphite dust heh heh heh..." T.B. laughed evily.  
  
"You work with computers, not with pencil," the Drode reminded.  
  
"Right, right... my PIXELATED dust heh heh heh..." T.B. laughed even more evily.  
  
"You're a sad sad person, and I'd recommend a good psyciatrist, because THEY'RE the ones with the drugs..." the Drode sighed before preparing to pop out of time and space.  
  
"Hey! Wait a minute Drode! I need to run an idea past you!" T.B. yelled, waving for the Drode to come back.  
  
"What?" the Drode asked with an annoyed tone.  
  
"Now, I was thinking about a story and it's with you and-"  
  
"Wait," the Drode interrupted, "does it HAVE to have me in it?"  
  
"Yes, yes it does. If you were not my favorite character, let's say... Marco was my favorite character, then I would have MARCO in this greatest piece of Fanfiction since the times of the great Animorph cliches, and not you. Because you would not be my favorite character. And you are. So there," T.B. explained carefully.  
  
"Yeah, whatever," the Drode sighed.  
  
"Good. Anyway, I was thinking now... what would you think, of a Angst/Humor fic? Huh? Huh? What do you think?" T.B. asked excitedly.  
  
"Oh geez... that's sick... angst and humor should have nothing to do with each other and you know it," the Drode groaned.  
  
"Oh, and what do you call all that junk K.A. wrote up in YOUR scenes? You SEEMED to have a sense of humor, no matter how evil, then! AND a lot of the plots included angst! So HAH!" T.B. laughed triumphantly.  
  
"Suuure, but never on MY part and that's known as SARCASM. I have a lot of it," the Drode said sarcastically.  
  
"Yeah but... it includes my BEST genres!" T.B. whined unhappily.  
  
"So your best genres are humor and... angst. Alright, that's sad," the Drode sighed.  
  
"Oh, and like YOU wouldn't know," T.B. snorted in annoyance.  
  
"I will NOT be included in a fic that includes angst AND humor, it'll ruin my personage," the Drode said haughtingly as he turned around.  
  
"And just what WOULD your personage be ANYWAY?" T.B. asked just as highly.  
  
"I'm an evil, sarcastic diplomat, not to be confused with Crayak's jester, which by the way, is a complete and utter LOSER. Got it?" the Drode snorted.  
  
"Alright, alright, no Angst/Humor if you're going to get hemorroids over it," T.B. sighed unhappily. "Well, at least not until you're out of the room... I can use a prune as a STUNT double!" she muttered under her breath.  
  
The Drode threw his weak, flimsy, and multiply-jointed arms into the air, "Great, first it's being horny and now it's hemorroids! What the HECK is with you?!"   
  
"Fine then, fine then, I'll just think up some OTHER embarrassing rash or fungi if you don't get hemorroids," T.B. yelled in annoyance.  
  
"What are you talking about? I'm only a prune-skinned, dinosaur-like... person! Of course I get'm!" Then suddenly, the Drode's eyes went a bright pink as he held up a jar of oozing white gel. "And when I get hemorroids, I use the patented "Evil-person on the Go!" hemorroids cream! Only one dose and you can be on your feet and out the door in seconds! No more embarrassing episodes in front of your golf-buddies and don't even worry about that date this Friday! With "Evil-person on the Go!" hemorroids cream, you'll be able to deal with the stress from YOUR evil boss and/or emperor AND deal with the stress from ordinary day life TOO! What a deal! And you would THINK you'd pay what for such a great deal? $20.99? $30.99? NO! We're letting this marvelous product go for only-"  
  
"Um, Drode... what are you doing?" T.B. asked in a slightly confused voice.  
  
The Drode suddenly blinked as the bright pink winked out of his eyes. "I-I don't know... but it was very frightening, and I didn't like it at all. Frankly, I think it's from hanging around YOU," the Drode said, a slightly pale look coming to his face. "I'm just going to leave, RIGHT NOW."   
  
"Hey wait a minute! Can't I run a few ideas for some fan fiction pieces I've been thinking of?" T.B. yelled.  
  
"Do they involve me?" the Drode asked suspiciously.  
  
"... yes."  
  
"No," the Drode said sharply before winking out of existance.  
  
T.B. frowned unhappily. "That was mean, very mean and RUDE. Very RUDE. And the only thing worse than being very mean, is being very RUDE."  
  
Suddenly the Drode popped back into existance. "What the Hell?!" he yelled angrily.  
  
"Hey! That was very mean and very rude just popping out of existance like that! And I demand an apology! I also demand that you listen to my fanfiction ideas! I ALSO DEMAND A CHOCOLATE CHIP ICECREAM SUNDAE!"  
  
"You realize, snatching someone from where they are, and dragging them into another dimension, without permission OR notice, is considered pretty rude too, right?" the Drode asked in annoyance.  
  
"WHERE'S MY ICECREAM SUNDAE??!" T.B. screamed insanely.  
  
The Drode sighed. "If I listen to your fan fiction ideas and give them my PERSONAL evaluation, will you leave me alone?" he asked in annoyance.  
  
T.B. growled, "Well... okay... will you make me a chocolate chip icecream sundae too?" T.B. asked hopefully.  
  
"No, you get the evaluation and that's it," the Drode refused.  
  
"Darn... okay then, let's get started. I have about three ideas involving YOU, PERSONALLY. In the first one, you get turned into a human by the Ellimist and-"  
  
"Dud," the Drode interrupted.  
  
"Well... okay. The second one tells about where you came from and how you met up with-"  
  
"Dud," the Drode interrupted again, waving it off with a pass of his hand.  
  
"Um, okay... uh the third one is about... um, uh..." T.B. tried to think, scratching her head.  
  
"What? Can't you even remember your own fan fiction ideas?!" the Drode yelled angrily.  
  
"Well, to tell you the truth, I didn't think we'd make it this far..." T.B. shrugged. "Give me a few days and I MIGHT be able to whip up something-"  
  
"You know what? I'm not going to stick around and find out, personally, you scare me more than Crayak does, and I believe you are totally insane. I also don't like putting myself in risk of getting caught inside another hemorroids commercial, or possibly something WORSE. YOU, are a HAZARD, a ticking timebomb ready to EXPLODE at any moment. And I'm not about to wait around and find out," Drode said very calmly as he winked out of existance once more.  
  
"Hey!" T.B. yelled in a hurtful tone.  
  
Suddenly the Drode winked back into existance. "And don't follow me," he said calmly before winking back out.  
  
"Darn," T.B. muttered in annoyance as she settled back into her computer. "Well you know WHAT DRODE! I don't think you were even LISTENING to my ideas! So I'm going to go ahead and WORK ON THAT HUMAN IDEA! BECAUSE YOU'RE JUST AS MUCH A PAIN IN MY a** AS MUCH AS ANY ONE OF MY FANFICTION. NET ENEMIES! YOU CAN JUST GO TO HELL YOU STUPID, STUPID DRODE!" T.B. screamed at the top of her lungs. She suddenly stopped and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well actually, if you could manage it, I'd rather if you'd stay alive, it's not easy having most of your favorite characters die on you, you know. I'd RATHER if you kept alive so I have something to cling to..."  
  
T.B. suddenly sniffed. "SINCE THEY KILLED OFF MY SECOND FAVORITE CHARACTER RACHEL! WHY?! WHY DID YOU DO IT K.A. APPLEGATE?! WHHHHHY????!!!" T.B. screamed as she burst into tears.  
  
  
From some distant, rather nasty and not Animorph-like land at ALL, instant known as the all evil and depressing land known as REMNANTS, a lone woman wondered to herself, "Yeah, I wonder why I did that too..."  
  
  
T.B. settled again back into her computer... and then realized she had typed out the whole incident with the Drode, her inability to write a decently long and complicated story, and had even written a fragment on K.A.'s second thoughts. "Geez, in all that time, I could have written something WORTHWHILE, something long, complicated, and completely and utterly awe-inspiring! Dang! Well... I guess this'll fetch me four or five reviews, that IS the going sale for Animorph 'Insanity' piece which actually involves NONE of the actual 'Animorph' characters... but since it IS the Drode, and I am only among a limited number of Drode fans... I'd better knock that down to two or three reviews... if any... Dang, and here I could have been working on something that would fetch me at LEAST 30..." T.B. muttered to herself as she posted her memorial to the long-forgotten great "Animorph" cliches, which of course, does not even compare to THEIR utter stupidity (which in a cliche is the primary and most-revered goal) as she uses much too much witty banter, even though she does compare when it comes to out-of-character-ness and manages to fit the goal when it comes to simply an utter lack of plot and taste.  
  
...  
  
. . .  
  
. . . .  
  
THE END 


End file.
